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A GATHERING SONG. |
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Our country is calling; wake, sons of the true! The storm of Fort Sumter was thundered at you; Each shell that whizzed there, and each traitorous
gun, Was aimed at.the banners your fathers have won. Then gather, then gather, &c.
Yet pause in your songs, let the banners float low, Half-mast o'er the turf, while a nation's tears flow ! As young Zouaves in the soil which he loved make
a grave For their golden-souled leader, — young Ellsworth
the brave. When bearing the olive of freedom and peace, Our Eagle, returning, bids slaughter to cease, Shall History place on the charter of fame, First in death, first in glory, that young martyr's
name. |
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